Human suffering anywhere concerns men and women everywhere.
—
They’re not even three yet, but already they have internalized the need to give words to their experiences and the experiences of those around them.
|
Elie Wiesel’s books were never required reading for me—my understanding of the Holocaust came entirely from excerpts of Anne Frank’s diary. Even in college, when I took a course examining genocide through world literatures, Night somehow evaded me. It wasn’t until I began teaching tenth grade English that I held the book in my hands.
From the first chapter, I was transfixed. I’ve always been concerned with the human experience, and with improving the lives of those around me, but Wiesel opened my eyes to a version of compassion more powerful than anything I’d ever seen or heard. I was hooked. I read everything I could find, listened to every speech recorded.
And then, yesterday afternoon, I learned that he had passed. As I tried to explain to my partner who Wiesel was and the impact he’d had on me, I realized that, more than anything, his words have shaped me as a father. Here are just a few of his words that I carry daily, lessons I am already trying to teach my young children.
Those who kept silent yesterday will remain silent tomorrow.
Even before my daughters were born I was adamant that I would never, ever teach them silence. Though there are times when we practice being quiet or calm, listening instead of talking, I refuse to punish them for speaking out when they’re upset. Yes, even when they yell at me for disciplining them. My reasoning? If they learn not to voice themselves now, it’s inevitable that they will not voice themselves as adults.
My biggest moment of joy recently is in hearing them defend others. When I discipline one of the other kids, they step in and tell me to be nice. When they see a stranger crying, they ask if they can hug them and tell them it’s going to be okay. They’re not even three yet, but already they have internalized the need to give words to their experiences and the experiences of those around them.
We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.
I’m what you call a reluctant father. I resisted having kids until I was thirty years old, and even then I was convinced that I had no idea what to do with children.
|
It’s no surprise that this message resonates with me as a parent, given how happy I am to see them defending themselves and each other. As a teacher, I’m constantly aware of the world that my kids will enter soon. Public schools are vicious, and they encourage a culture of torment and bystanders. Most people carry this with them well behind high school, which is precisely why injustice is so rampant in our nation, why just last week a woman was repeatedly stabbed on a crowded subway car and no one stepped in. As a parent, I feel like it’s my obligation to raise human beings who refuse to watch others suffer, who will speak out even when the tormented are complete strangers.
Once you bring life into the world, you must protect it. We must protect it by changing the world.
I’m what you call a reluctant father. I resisted having kids until I was thirty years old, and even then I was convinced that I had no idea what to do with children. It was my students of all people who helped me realize that I’d been preparing to be a father for most of my life simply by trying to create a more inclusive world. I reject the savior mentality and refuse to raise my girls to believe that they need to be protected. I want them to have agency and believe in their own strength. But I also fight every day to dismantle patriarchy and racist systems. I talk to my girls about the gender spectrum and introduce them to as many cultures as possible.
The opposite of love is not hate; it’s indifference.
This one is quite simple. I’m OK with my children having visceral reactions. I’m OK with them disliking things. What I’m not OK with is apathy. Like silence, apathy is too abstract a concept for my kids to understand. However, they can understand the need to identify and communicate genuine reactions throughout the day. My hope is that, as they age, I can help them understand why apathy is the most selfish, dangerous reaction to human suffering. This, I think, will make them better friends, partners and, if they choose, parents.
Look, if I were alone in the world, I would have the right to choose despair, solitude and self-fulfillment. But I am not alone.
This is a big one for me. I have bipolar disorder, and I have attempted and/or contemplated suicide nearly every year of my life. There are days when I am convinced that my kids would be better off without me. There are many days when I don’t feel joy, when I don’t have the strength to crawl out of bed. But, because I have kids, I fake it. I fight. They are my constant motivation, my source of light. I am not alone in this world, and so I carry my grief instead of succumbing to it.
Human suffering anywhere concerns men and women everywhere.
Parenting is, more than anything, a lesson in grace. And nothing lives so long as a life of grace.
|
I literally cannot take my kids somewhere without them asking why a stranger is crying. They notice sadness everywhere. Why is this important? Put simply, suffering is inescapable, and I want my children to not only recognize it but concern themselves with it. It’s not enough to see sadness. We must show compassion, and we must work to end suffering wherever it lives.
We must not see any person as an abstraction. Instead, we must see in every person a universe with its own secrets, with its own treasures, with its own sources of anguish, and with some measure of triumph.
This is another idea that I internalized and forgot about it, only to see it resurface when I began writing about my daughters. Well before I held them, I described each of them as a tiny universe. Three years later, I still return to cosmological metaphors when I try to describe my experiences as a parent. I can’t fathom the enormity of the feelings I have for them, or the intensity of their experiences, without accepting that each of us embodies the full spectrum of possibility.
For me, every hour is grace. And I feel gratitude in my heart each time I can meet someone and look at his or her smile.
I don’t always remember this, but I always return to it. Parenting is an impossible task. Today, as I’m writing this, my tension is at its peak. The weekend has been long, my daughters missed their naps, my 5-month-old son cannot keep his food down. Suffice to say, it’s been rough. But, as with every day, the fact that I get to experience this life with such wonderful humans is the epitome of grace. Parenting is, more than anything, a lesson in grace. And nothing lives so long as a life of grace.
—
Photo: Getty Images
Beautiful Ronnie. I think he would have been honored to know his words influenced you so deeply. You are giving your kids a wonderful gift.
For more reflections on parenting, visit http://www.dadarms.com or follow Dad Arms on Facebook!